


Laundry Stop

by FrolickingFanGirl15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Chores, Decapitation, Gen, Ghouls, Laundromat, Laundry, Slice of life with hunting, headshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrolickingFanGirl15/pseuds/FrolickingFanGirl15
Summary: Sam and Dean need to launder their clothes, but they are also on a hunt... Domestic chores and the family business shouldn't mix!





	Laundry Stop

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Winchesters' Laundry Day](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/329124) by Petite-Madame Grenouille. 



> This fic was born from my love for a great piece of fan art and my trip to the laundromat. I wrote half of the fic while waiting for my laundry to finish. (: The fan art that served as part of the inspiration is a great piece by Petite-Madam Grenouille on deviantart. It's a lovely piece give it a look! 
> 
> https://petite-madame.deviantart.com/art/Winchesters-Laundry-Day-155708304?offset=100#comments 
> 
> I love the to read fics based on what we don't see of Sam and Dean's lives. We know they are always hunting, but they also have day to day things to attend to. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Hayley ^_^

It was the second week of October in another post-factory, factory town in somewhere America. It was a sunny day and warm for October with the sun shining golden and side long. “Nope, nope. Going to have to do it, can’t get around it again.” Said Dean with sigh as he raked his hand through his hair surveying the jumbled up, mud splattered, and occasionally blood spattered piles of their laundry. Sam looked over as he closed up his laptop. 

“Laundromat.” It wasn’t a question. He gave Dean a sympathetic little smile. Dean started shoving clothing into their duffels as if it were the clothes fault they were clotted with grave dirt and adrenaline tinged sweat. 

“How’s the research Geek Boy?” Sam shook his head the nickname was familiar enough that he almost didn’t notice it anymore. It was all machismo as usual, but Sam knew Dean’s undercurrent of affection in it without a second thought. 

“It’s good, we’re hunting ghouls, so decapitation or extreme head trauma.”

“How about both?” Said Dean then he clicked his tongue against his teeth. Sam chuckled. 

“Not a bad idea.”

Dean had loaded up their duffels and was beginning to stuff Sam’s backpack. _We really put this off._ He admitted. “It might seem like a bad order of operations, but I’m thinking we should head to the laundromat and wait for it to get dark, they’ve been sticking to cover of darkness to satisfy their cadaver cravings.” 

Sam’s eyebrows arched. _It’s a solid plan except..._ “ _We_ go to the laundromat? Why don’t you go, and pick me up after.” Dean groaned as he dropped out his arms against his sides. It was childish, but so Dean it made a ripple of affection pass through him. “Alright pfft, I’ll go with you.” Dean gave him a playful cuff on the shoulder. 

“Thanks man, it just gets extra tedious alone. There’s always someone who brings all the clothes they have, and there aren’t enough driers.”

*

As with bowling alleys, it seemed that each small town could be counted on for a laundromat. Although Dean would take bowling over laundry any day. This laundromat was pretty good. Same old white countertops, the Formica worn off in places to show the wood underneath. This one was a little different with a black and white checker board lino. There were five banks of washing machines, each machine looked rather old fashioned, but at the same time there was a stalwartness to them. Sam took the two duffels and his backpack from Dean, and started back towards the bank of multiple load machines, all of them a 70’s-esque mustard colored, as Dean headed to the change making machine. As always between them unspoken efficient team work. Dean looked up, another nice feature of this laundromat was it’s natural wood open ceiling it gave the space more ventilation, but also made it less claustrophobic than old gypsum white title would. The vertical rows of fluorescent lights weren’t on yet, but it would only be a couple hours before they’d have to do the dirty work of ghoul hunting. Dean grimaced as he started to feed ones into the beige square box labeled CHANGE. 

“I can think of another way I’d rather use these ones.” Grumbled Dean, but he punctuated the words with a smirk. Sam scoffed. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He retorted as he stuffed clothes into a couple of the machines. In an effort to save some of their ones, Dean had bought a big ol’container of bargain detergent at a discount grocers. He settled it with a metallic thud-boom on top of the washer and started feeding in quarters. Sam reached out and took the other half of the lot and started feeding in quarters to the neighboring machine. 

As much as Sam found the these laundry days as tedious as Dean he did feel a little flicker of satisfaction watching the machine rolling and rolling their old well worn clothes around in the suds. It was nice that a little laundry detergent and agitation could remove the markings of their messed up job. Now a little brain detergent wouldn’t be bad, or at least in his case some spiritual detergent. Sam sighed and leaned over top of one the empty machines stretching his back. He looked about the laundromat. It looked to be a quiet day. A few people came and went, but no one seemed to have more than a couple of loads. We’re the ones that brought all the clothes they have, it’s us! Sam chuckled, they had far less clothes than most, travel light but prepared was the Winchester way. Sam enjoyed people watching, even if he hadn’t been born into hunting he figured he would still be curious about others, but liking it and it being essential to the job was a rare and happy combination. Dean seemed to be toying with the soda machine that time forgot, a mid 80’s model Sam guessed, that was probably only patronized by the truly thirsty in the height of Summer, or in Dean’s case the truly bored.

Ultimately Dean came back over to him sans soda. Twenty-five minutes later he grinned when one their machines finished and he leaned in and grabbed that load and plopped it into one of the metal wire wheeled baskets. He tensed up as he spotted a drier open and scampered for it. He came back and started another load in the washer once he had it going he leaned against the washer and looked over to Sam.  
“Have you ever gotten busy at a laundromat?” He asked. Sam eyes widened.  
“What? No. Why?” Dean shrugged.  
“Just making conversation. What about at Stanford?”  
“No, Jessica and I shared a dorm, so no. Why, have you?”  
Dean shrugged, but he looked quickly to the side and his shoulders caved inward a little, sure signs for Sam he was regretting bringing up the topic now.  
“Well-- maybe--- once.”  
Sam laughed a bright happy sound that made Dean gave a little smile despite his feeling awkward. “Shuddup Sammy.” There was a laugh in his voice too. Sam shook his head.  
“I shouldn’t tease, I remember how it was, no privacy.”  
“Yeah, after you started at Stanford Dad and I were either working together, or I wouldn’t see him for days. No middle ground.” Sam’s mouth tightened as he felt the familiar prang of guilt and pity that came when Dean mentioned Stanford from his perspective. He wasn’t sure what to say. _Dean I didn’t want to leave you. I’m sorry you were lonely. ... I can’t live for others like you can..._  
Dean looked forward, out the great big window that took up most of the front face of the laundromat. The sun was listing toward the horizon casting purple-blue shadow in the clouds with touches of gold and pink highlights. As with so much in their lives things were normal, until they weren’t...

*

A middle aged lady with graying curly blonde hair, jeans and a floral blouse was the only other person in the laundromat, beside Sam and Dean and was folding her clothes on the countertop in front of the big window as a man strode into the propped open glass door. Dean saw her raise her glance to look at the new comer. Sam was pulling out a load out of the drier into an abandoned pink plastic laundry basket with the little rectangular holes. Sam’s attention jerked away from his task as the lady gasped. 

“Thomas? Thomas Swanson?” The man was around the same age as Sam and Dean. He wore a dirty Carhartt coat over a mud smeared and damp work shirt and his jeans were similar with dirt caking their knees. The woman was backing away from him. The light outside had faded enough that the fluorescent lights blinked and flickered to life. The man raised his head slightly, a confident motion the stark light slide over his dark brown hair and stood out on his features and revealed blood smeared over his mouth. “You can’t be.. You were killed in a motorcycle accident last Summer.” Whispered the lady visibly trembling even from the distance Sam and Dean were from her. In the space of one inhale Sam grabbed his pistol from his jeans waistband and fired. Blood and brain matter fanned out over the white countertop, edges of the window, and the black and white checked lino. The ghoul dressed in Thomas Swanson’s form was pitched off his feet and his half empty head rolled showing the edges of his awl like teeth. The Lady was still shaking. Dean caught a hold of her touching her shoulders looking at her focused, ardent. “Go lady, run! Don’t stop don’t, look back just run.” She nodded tossing her blonde curls about and she ran for it. In the split second he’d had to think of it Dean had assumed she would sprint out the back, but she jumped over the ghoul’s played out and was gone out the front door. Dean whirled around and seized a machete from under some socks boxers and shirts.

“Hunters!” A clear cold shout in a woman’s voice from the backdoor. She was as muddy as her counterpart had been, and in the strong full fluorescent lighting it was clear the dark patches on the purple dress were blood. She ran toward Dean with a terrible speed. Dean pivoted to his the side and hacked into her neck. Despite the number of times he’s done this Dean felt his stomach lurch with the sensation of blade through flesh and bone and sticking into bone. Dean went to pull the machete free, and the blade was stuck fast in the ghoul’s vertebrae. He set his teeth and pulled again, no go. She grabbed him her fingers were bruising strong even through his layers of leather jacket, button down shirt, and t-shirt. She opened her mouth her sharp awl-like teeth appeared. What was somehow worse, was the way her mouth widened impossible for any familiar creature, splitting wide the sensitive skin at the corners of the woman’s lips. She was pulling Dean closer.

In his mind’s eye he saw her sink those awful teeth into his carotid artery drinking his blood by the pint. He gritted his own teeth his lips curled into a snarl. In the space of a couple of heartbeats he seized his pistol and buried the muzzle under her chin and fired. The blast shook both of them the exit wound tore open the back the ghoul’s head. Dean’s face remained hard even though some of the misting of her blood marked his face. The ghoul’s body collapsed and he wrenched free the machete. As soon as he freed the machete Sam was shooting as two more ghouls were rushing in through the front. Sam gave ground, but it was precise. He headed to Dean until he was back to back with him. Sam covering their front and Dean their back. Another ghoul this time a man who was in his forties, dashed at Dean. Dean dodged as the ghoul swiped at him with fingers edged with fingernails transformed into vicious claws, but fingernail-claws sliced into his brow above his right eyebrow. He swung the machete this time it sheared cleanly through skin, arteries and bone decapitating the Ghoul the head gave a wet thud as it hit the floor and skidded away under one of the counters. 

A petite female ghoul looking to be in her twenties with red hair lunged at Sam. He reeled back the machete, but the ghoul slipped in some of the spilt blood flailing back and Sam’s machete cleaved at an angle into her breastbone. She came forward still and for the a second’s breath she was near enough to kiss him and she touched his face curling in her fingernail-claws and cutting his cheek. He flailed back, and slipped on the blood slicked lino he caught himself on... The fire extinguisher in it’s holder bracketed to the wall. He grabbed the fire extinguisher and tearing it away and with every ounce of his strength he brought metal cylinder down on the ghoul’s head crushing her skull.  
“Sam! Lookout!” Dean warned Sam curled up and Dean shot another ghoul who had appeared where the redhead and first stood, the shot hit the ghoul’s throat sending up a blossom of blood.

“Shit!” Dean darted forward and Sam scrambled to stand. Dean seized the sandy haired ghoul in a headlock pulling him off balance he ran with him and shoved the ghoul head first into one of the open mustard colored washing machines. The ghoul fisted his hands in Dean’s jacket pulling and grabbing and scratching and Dean shrugged it off the jacket. Dean cried out and slammed the door or the washing machine on the ghoul neck. It was a flurry of energy and violence as he slammed and slammed and slammed the door. Blood streamed rivulets down the front and side of the washing machine until he severed the monster’s head. He dragged in a few shaking breaths the adrenaline radiating, but cold inside him.

Sam’s green-hazel eyes were wide, his face was a picture of the absolute expression of _what the fuck!_ It was a walking skeleton with a single gray eye hanging from it’s left socket from connective tissue and optic nerve. Sam lunged at it swinging the machete he’d meant to swing for the skeleton’s neck, but instead he sheared through the thing’s pelvis. It clattered to the floor and pushed itself toward them on it’s arms rocking as it went. Dean drew his pistol and shot the thing in the not squishy eye socket. A burst of blood and brain matter flew wide and the thing collapsed. Sam’s chest heaved, after a moment he pushed and pulled the ghoul’s headless body away from the bank of washing machines, still tingling and shaky with adrenaline he sat down on the cold lino and stretched out his long legs. The skeleton was lying right next to him and he took some deep breaths. Dean sighed it was deep, but it had shakiness in it too. He eased himself down and sat with his legs in a triangle shape one heavy booted ankle over the other. The held the gun up towards the ceiling the muzzle still trickling faint smoke. 

*

Dean set down his pistol on lino and combed his hand through his short back and sides cut. Sam lowered his head and wiped his large hands down his face. Dean glanced over as he realized his elbow was in a soft cloud of laundry. It was that pink found basket, there was his shirt, one of Sam’s dark socks, a pair of his shorts, a t-shirt of Sam’s, so much of it now blotted with blood or misted with blood.  
“Oh, Sonofabitch!” He grumbled. “Can’t even go to the laundromat.”  
Sam looked over to their laundry. “Damn... A skeleton huh?”  
“Yeah what the hell, overripe zombie? But then that shouldn’t have worked, weird.”  
“Weird as ever.”


End file.
